where my demons hide
by of jungle dances
Summary: because she lost herself a long time ago, so long she can't she can't even remember. / bellatrix centric. for the HPFC flower challenge


for the HPFC flower language challenge. my flower — orchids [symbolizing exotic beauty]

**a/n:** where my demons hide - a bellatrix fic. um, very short & drabble-ish... i tried going into bellatrix's mind - tell me what you think, :). and, um, sorry if it makes no sense. hope you enjoy, :).

title and lyrics courtesy of imagine dragons' demons. [disclaimed]

for all of my friends on ff., :). they're perfect.**  
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**where my demons hide**

don't get too close; it's dark inside.

**x**

When a flower first blooms, it's beautiful, exotic, the very epitome of innocence as it stands, tall and proud, bathing in golden rays and the praise and admiration of others. But when the rain falls; a harsh, heavy downpour, stinging and biting at everything, the flower bends ever so slightly, bowing down just a little. As time passes, the flower cripples, the petals loose their unearthly shine and the aura of beauty fades. The colors spill out, leaving a bleached empty shell in place of what once used to be.

She feels like a flower.

Her eyes are sunken, her pale, sickly skin digs into her bones, hair falling in messy lumps and her smile has long lost it's glory. She used to be beautiful, they say, her dark eyes glimmering with the glow and charisma only Bellatrix Lestrange could carry.

Now, they're almost always empty, like a lake that's been dry for years.

She doesn't feel beautiful anymore — from the outside, certainly not and neither from the inside. In fact, she's not even sure what she feels anymore — or _if_ she even feels anymore, it's hard to tell because Bella lost herself a long time ago, so long she can't remember.

They call her insane, a lot. Alone and deserted in _darkdarkdark_ room filled with _darkdarkdark_ nightmares, she thinks they're right, maybe she was never sane to begin with, either. Her days awake are full of endless agony, sounds she didn't know she could make and her nights aren't so much better either, transporting her back to those moments she wishes she'd forgotten.

Sometimes, she sees Cissy, sometimes Meda, sometimes her Reg and Sirius and on some days, she sees all of them; back when they were lost in their own fantasies, when _this_ world [where you never get to choose] was a mere shadow and she was a fiery princess, leaping over cliffs and fighting dragons with her bare hands.

Nowadays, she's the _bad_ one.

She hates those dreams, she hates remembering what it was like to be carefree, to be beautiful, to be weak. It's always the same dream, playing on loop, again and again and again...

It's a cold, dreary day but children still prance on the rooftop of a huge brick house, not the slightest bit afraid of falling. Narcissa is raking a comb Andromeda's long, tangled hair (so much like her own), her crystalline eyes are sparkling and Cissy is happier than she's been in a long time. Sirius and Reg are there too, chasing each other and Bella is right with them, her own hair flying loose across her face and she is just as daring, tiptoeing right on the edge.

But good times never last and that's when it comes; the cold, hungry monster, swallowing everything in it's way, eyes burning crimson and Bella's caught — the monster has swallowed her friends and it's gaining on her and she's loosing her grip, her tiny hands slowly sliding off…

That's when the dream shatters and she wakes up, screaming and dripping in cold sweat, tears streaking down her face. She hates herself for crying because crying is a sign of weakness and Bella can't do weak, she just can't.

She's a murderer, maybe part psycho — but she's _not_ weak.

Yet everyday she feels a new, gaping hole in her chest as if she's slowly driving herself insane. She hates them all — her family, her sisters, her friends that would love a chance to sabotage her and even her foolish husband. She loves, she worships and cares only for the Dark Lord, her Lord because he saved her, giving her the power to carry on and stray strong through those _terribleterribleterrible_ nights in Azkaban.

He promised her what nobody else could promise — he promised her power.

It's him, him, him and _only_ _him. _Never anybody else, not even Bella herself.

When she breaks out of Azkaban, and the cool, crisp morning air of freedom hits her, calming her from inside, the spicy scent of autumn fresh in the air, she feels unscathed, clean on both the inside and outside. She feels free, exhilarated (she's fighting dragons again), she feels _pure_.

But then the spell breaks, reality hits her and the moment is gone_._

_Gone._

**x**_  
_

no matter what we breed, we are still made of greed  
this is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come.

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**fin.**


End file.
